


Grace

by TheWolves24



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Lies, Love, Passion, slow burn up to now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 20:58:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11343069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWolves24/pseuds/TheWolves24
Summary: "And I can't breathe, I can't breathe with you looking at me like that, so JUST STOP!"A spin on the infamous Grey's Anatomy scene while they're in the exam room. I just placed Jon and Sansa in the roles of Meredith and Derek.





	Grace

Sansa bolted down the hallway to her rooms, her skirts lifting, hearing his footsteps behind her.

“Sansa! Wait, please!” He yelled after her, his steps quickening behind her.

“Leave me alone!” She threw behind her shoulder, but he didn’t stop.

Damnit.

Flying into her room, she tried to shut the door, but, he stuck his foot in, halting her from doing so.

“Jon. Just leave me alone!” She said, loudly, turning her back to him not quite shouting….yet.

“I-I just wanted to see if you’re alright.” He muttered.

Something in Sansa snapped, and she whirled around on him.

“No! I’m not alright. Are you satisfied? I am _not_ alright! Y-You have Daenerys now, and you basically _belittle_ me when I tell you about Littlefinger proposing marriage!?”

Jon’s face turned instantly dark. He closed the distance between them, but Sansa was faster. She put herself behind one of the desk chairs, drawing a barrier between them.

“And now you’re looking at me!” She snapped, “ _Stop_ looking at me!”

Jon growled, “I’m not looking at you. I am _NOT_ looking at you,” his body moved to grab her wrist from behind the desk, but Sansa dodged it, scooting to the right more.

“ _You_ are looking at me, and you watch me! A-And Baelish has plans, I like him, he’s good for me, and I’m really trying here to be happy, and I can’t _breathe_ , I can’t _breathe_ with you looking at me like that, so _JUST STOP_!” She shouted, panting, her cheeks tinged red.

Jon’s lips were trembling, his barely suppressed rage leaking through his calm exterior.

“You think I _want_ to look at you?” He demanded, his voice soft, yet hoarse, thick with tension, and unbridled anger.

“That I wouldn’t rather be looking at my wife? I-I’m married, I have responsibilities! She doesn’t drive me crazy! She doesn’t make it _impossible_ for me to feel normal! She doesn’t make me _sick_ to my stomach, thinking of that _old man_  touching her with his hands!”

He was panting as well now.

“Gods, I would give anything _not_ to be looking at you!”

There was nothing but silence in the room, their heavy breathing filling the void.

Before Sansa could try to react, she felt Jon’s hands on her face, crushing her against him, his lips moving over hers roughly. Sansa instantly reacted to his kiss, shoving her hands into his hair. Jon moved the chair out of the way, and backed her roughly into the wall.

His kisses ducked lower, running over her neck, her cheeks, her collar bone, anywhere he could touch basically.

He hoisted her up, clutching at her skirts, hearing her moan in the process, a hiss following due to the chilly draft hitting her bare thighs as he ripped at her small clothes.

His lips never left hers, but he could feel her hands dip down, shakily undoing the clasp that held his breeches, tugging them down his narrow hips.

Jon pulled back then, keeping her held up, spinning them around, he laid her, none too gently onto the oaken table.

He pried at her dress, finally getting it open, pushing the rest of her small clothes off.

The only things left on her were her wool stockings that stopped at her knees, little blue bows accenting the top of them. Jon decided to keep those on.

Shrugging his tunic off, he was bare before her, watching her chest rise and fall, her nipples pebbling.

Wasting no time, he moved down and started to devour her breasts, her nimble fingers weaving themselves into his inky curls.

“Jon.” She whispered.

His lips moved up to her lips, roughly kissing them again, his hands going to her thighs, aligning himself at her wet entrance.

Shoving through, he felt her long limbs entangle with his hips as he thrust forward, sheathing himself fully inside her.

They gasped together, holding the other closely as pleasure ripped through their bodies. Jon’s nostrils flared, scooting her bottom closer off the desk, his cock sliding as deep as it could go.

Sansa gasped again, arching her back, lifting her head, her breasts sticking out, nipples rock hard again. Jon continued to thrust, his tongue licking up her chest, leaving a fiery trail behind.

“Jon.” She moaned again, hearing him grunt against her flesh.

Crushing her to him, they were face to face now. She moved to kiss his lips, but his fingers entangled in her hair, forcing her head back so he could attack her neck.

Sansa shuddered, feeling the heat of the room close in on them, on their coupling.

It felt so right, he fit inside her perfectly, making her feel pleasure she never fathomed could exist.

Jon held her soft hair in his grasp as he thrust inside of her, over and over again, the desk creaking with their movements.

Sansa could feel the heat start to burn inside of her. Whimpering, she moved her head out of his grasp, and wound her arms around his shoulders, pushing their foreheads together, wanting to be looking at him when she found her release.

Jon himself felt the heat move to his balls, making a shudder run up and down his spine.

Gods, it had  _never_ felt like this.

Breath intermingling, Sansa slid her mouth over his, gasping against his lips as he shoved his hips, feeling the heat take over her core and spread out, hitting her uterus, anus, and inner walls, making them all contract, almost painfully.

Having to release his lips to _release_ the pressure that threatened to consume her, she let out a long moan, her hips moving forward on their own accord to ride out the waves of pleasure taking over her at the moment.

Jon felt her folds flutter on him, clamping down so roughly that he thought he’d get lost in her forever.

The heat ran up his cock, and he felt the explosion of stars behind his eyes, groaning, he shoved his nose into her hair, his seed shooting out to scald her cervix and womb as the long spurts left his body.

They continued to thrust together, their pleasure winding down.

“Jon.” She said, and he looked at her.

“Please. Don’t leave me.” She whispered, “I-I couldn’t bear it.”

Jon sighed soundly, kissing her cheek, then her ear.

“Sansa.”

She moved her head back, her icicle blue eyes meeting his brown ones.

“W-What?” She questioned, feeling her heart start to beat faster.

He just smiled, cupping her cheek gently, pulling himself from her, hissing at the cold air as it collided with his flaccid cock.

“I know that…that you’re married. B-But the Targaryens practiced polygamy.” She said, trying to sound strong, but failing. She wanted him…no…

 _Needed_ him.

She knew that now.

Jon pulled on his breeches, and Sansa just watched him, not understanding why he wasn’t saying anything.

The tears were bunching in her eyes before she could even think to hold them back. Jumping up, she shoved past him, ripping her dress off the floor to toss it over her head.

“Sansa. Stop. I-It’s not like you think…”

Stopping, but keeping her back to him, she waited for him to speak.

He sighed.

“Daenerys and I, we, we aren’t together.”

Sansa lost her breath for a minute.

Turning her head slightly, she looked into his face.

“W-What? B-But I had heard that you two were married in Kings Landing?”

Jon huffed, feeling foolish, and the harsh feeling of guilt crept up his spine.

“I only said that because I heard about Baelish proposing to you.”

Sansa moved out of his grasp, walking backwards until the back of her knees hit the bed, making her sink onto the furs.

She was confused.

“B-But, I, I was…I was so hurt.” She said, moving her hand over her heart.

“I was too.” Jon said back to her, softly.

Silence.

“Seven hells Sansa, I was so damn angry at you. I wanted-” he gulped,“ I wanted to hurt you, as you hurt me. My heart was broken, _shattered_.”

Sansa found his eyes, seeing the hurt and anguish there.

“I came to Winterfell to tell you that the marriage hadn’t happened.”

Sansa just shook her head. “B-But what you said…about having a wife and responsibilities.”

Jon just shook his head, tentatively walking to where he was in front of her.

“Gods, I just wanted you to _know_ just how much I wanted you. _With_ or _without_ a wife.”

Sansa felt her heart hammer. Looking into his face again, she saw desperation, and she knew instantly that she could forgive him.

They had both harmed each other. Lied to be hurtful, lied to be safe from pain…

She knew how that was.

Reaching up, she grasped his hand.

“I forgive you.”

And he smiled.

"Aye, now get that dress off. I'm not done with you yet." He said huskily, his pupils dilating, arousal building again.

Sansa blushed, but did exactly what he asked.

 

 

One-shot!

Hope you enjoyed it!


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